The Extraordinary Event of the Ordinary Day
--For Trish Harnetiaux
I’m whistling
something atonal
and if I was listening
to my whistling
I’d surely be alarmed,
but I’m not.
I’ve found a catalog
of great things
left undone,
and I will begin to look
for the moments
I have missed.
The disasters in hindsight,
the elephants
marching in the mind.
O how I live in those
giant footprints. How long
it has taken me to notice
their large pounding
in the in my too-tight chest.
This was supposed to be indented in parts, but I can't figure that out, sorry!
ReplyDeleteAda,
ReplyDeleteI found this (your blog) today (the 10th).
I chose this poem (in time) to say hi!
Because you posted this about the same time I was burying Bhajan in the garden.
He made it to 15. Not bad for a skinny street-cat from Sonoma.
MW